Ife smiled as the lukewarm water cleared the residue of soap on her hands. She stood gazing absently in the local coffee shop’s toilet, in joyful reflection on all she had done to achieve the impending promotion interview. After working in the international social care organisation for seven years, she was minutes away from the opportunity to finally become a regional manager. And at the age of twenty-eight too!
What began as a dream to contribute to the care system she had benefited from, became the most daring career for a black woman in the country. It had cost her time, resources and even her social life to get to this point. She had volunteered in care homes, worked on the most difficult cases, managed several teams, and joined the fostering program in her organisation. Having passed the requirement to foster a minimum of ten children in five years, she was at the final stage of the process. She was getting in a position that no other ethnic minority female had ever attained.
Whilst looking in the mirror above the sink to make sure that her mass of afro curls atop her head were still in place, she noticed she was not alone. She nearly jumped as she saw an emaciated little blonde girl with dark circles around her large blue eyes waiting patiently for her.
Realising that she had been hogging the lone sink in the toilet, she immediately stepped aside. She was less than ten minutes away from her pivotal interview. Although the office was just a minute from the coffee shop, Ife wanted to ensure her nerves were calm enough before the interview.
She began drying her hands with the automatic hand dryer and noticed from the corner of her eyes, the little girl attempting to reach the soap dispenser that hung too high up on the wall. Since there was no step stool to aid her, Ife felt duty bound to help. She asked the girl to put her hands below the dispenser whilst she pumped the soap. Whilst trying to make sure the soap fell directly into the little pink hands below it, her eyes caught sight of familiar marks on the girl’s wrist. She stood struck, involuntarily stepping away as ugly memories from her own past were triggered. The movement of the girl’s hands as she began washing them caused her oversized sleeves to ride up further enough for Ife to see another wound she recognised easily.
The uncaring little girl who seemed lost in her thoughts was undoubtedly a victim of the same sort of abuse Ife had been subjected to, for most of her childhood. The slashes on her wrist were no doubt a result of self harming, which she had also once engaged in to pull her focus from the pain she usually felt in her heart. The wounds above it were not self-inflicted. She was quite certain that they were burns inflicted with a cigarette. Ife turned away abruptly, unwilling to confront the demons from her past. She decided that she was exaggerating what she had seen, and the wound was from a rash or a skin disease that had turned sore. Although she was most familiar with what burns from cigarettes looked like, since she was burnt countless times in her childhood, she concluded that her assumption could be wrong, since the girl’s pale complexion was in contrast to her own dark skin.
She made a move to leave, since she did not wish to be late for her interview but was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of heaviness. The memory of the day she had been rescued from the terrifying custody of her aunt and her dreadful husband flashed through her mind. It had been the neighbours living next door who had beckoned to her when she was taking out the bin. They were a christian couple with no children of their own, but they told her that they had been praying for an opportunity to find her alone, so they could help her. They had heard her scream in pain several times, and tried helping her by reporting to the police, but were limited, because of the credible lies her guardians told.
Her aunty had a report that she was psychiatrically ill, hence her constant screaming and self harming. The woman also claimed that, being her only sane relative, she had taken Ife from her schizophrenic mother in Africa in hopes that she could help her at the early stage of her mental illness and they were doing all to care for her.
Ife remembered how she had thrown caution into the wind and taken the risk, by telling all to the strange neighbours who told her they could help her. She wanted to escape the toture of living with her wicked guardians. She told the couple how she had been taken from her poor family in Africa, with the promise of a better life, but had been made a slave to her aunty, who forced her to do the most strenuous chores, even the ones unsuitable for her age or gender. Whenever she made a mistake or did not do something as perfectly as she ought to, she was subject to all sorts of physical abuse. Her aunt had also allowed her husband physical and sexual liberties which no child should endure.
Her trust in the couple who chose to help her had not been misplaced, as they saw to it that she got justice and fostered her till they were allowed to adopt her. They gave her life a new meaning and loved her despite the troubles she gave them, till she was a changed person. It was in fact to make her adoptive parents proud that she was eager to do the promotional interview, but in that moment she wondered if she could proudly tell them that she had forgone an opportunity to save a child from an abuser to attain the position.
It went against everything she had been taught to ignore the child, or not at least ask some questions. The only opposing argument she could think of was that her duty of care was only to those within her organisation, and even if she was to be excused for missing the interview her explanation will never suffice. However, being a Christian woman, who believed in the need for unconditional love, she became strongly opposed to abandoning the child.
Stepping back into the toilet, she approached the little girl and for the first time, noticed the tears streaming down her small face.
“Hello there, are you okay?” She asked, and the child’s only response was to hurriedly wipe her tears away, but the woman was not deterred. “My name is Ife. What is yours?”
It took a moment, but the little girl responded in a whisper, “Hannah”
“And how old are you hannah?”
“Seven, almost eight.”
“I noticed some marks on your little hands and I wanted to ask you some questions about it.” Those words immediately put an invisible barrier between them, as the child tugged rapidly at her sleeves in a bid to conceal the wounds.
“Please Hannah, don’t hide it from me.” The girl shook her head vehemently, and looked as though she was seeking a means of escape. No matter the affirming words, or promises in an attempt to coax the child, she just wouldn’t budge. After some futile efforts, Ife resolved to do what she had not done in so many years. She folded up her own long sleeves and revealed the scars that told the story of all she suffered till the age of twelve.
The cigarette burns, the self harming, and wounds caused from the various forms of physical abuse she experienced. It was a small percentage of the other scars which represented even worse abuses she had endured. She observed the girl studying her hand with rapt attention and knew she had reached a turning point with her. “Please, let me help you. I have gone through the same, or even worse pain than you are experiencing.” She took hold of the little hands and asked the same question she had been asking in vain, “Who did this to you?”
“My dad,” The girl whispered and began to cry.
“Where is he?” Ife asked softly.
“In the shop. He will become angry if I don’t go to him now. He is very bad when he is angry..” The girl said suddenly filled with fright at the thought.
“No Hannah, please, trust me, I will never let him harm you again.” There was a glimmer of hope in the child’s eyes, but it vanished almost immediately.
“No you can’t. Even the police know I am sick, my dad told them so. He said he will make sure I’m locked away forever with rats and cockroaches if I ever say anything.”
“Well, he lied and I don’t believe you are sick at all. Please trust me, I promise to do all I can to help and protect you.” The glimmer returned to the child’s eyes and she was going to say something, when Ife’s phone rang, interrupting them. It was a call from the overall manager of her office, David. She considered ignoring his call, but on further consideration she answered.
He asked of her whereabouts with an urgency in his voice and explained to her that the three interviewers from the head office had arrived, and her meeting was in less than two minutes. Ife was compelled to explain the situation to him and her decision to miss her appointment for the sake of the child. David, although her boss, had been her friend for the three years she had been under his management. She found it quite easy to disclose her location and assured him that she would call the police as soon as he was off the phone, as she feared that the abuser might come seeking his daughter. As though her words conjured the man, a hoarse male voice was heard outside the toilet calling for Hannah.
The little girl began to panic and clung to her. Ife immediately hung up on David and dialled the police. She did her best to remain calm as she quietly informed them of the reason she had called, as well as her location. The man’s voice got louder and angrier, and Ife was advised to leave her phone connected to the police, if the man did anything as drastic as attack her. She put the phone in her pocket and instructed Hannah to lock herself in one of the three toilets. The girl obeyed, even though she was pale with fright. She looked eager to do all she was told if it meant an escape from her abuser.
After a few minutes of futile yelling, the man walked into the toilet and Ife eyed him with unforced repugnance. He was a rather large man, who looked like a junkie, with his rugged face, unkempt hair, unshaven beard and dirty clothes. Even at two in the afternoon, he reeked of alcohol.
“Sir, you are in the wrong toilet. This is only for ladies.” Ife explained doing her best to hide her shudder.
“I’m sorry miss, I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m here to take my daughter. She has been in this toilet for half an hour, and you see, She’s sick in the head, so I’m afraid she could harm herself.” The man explained. If she had not seen the girl herself, Ife could have easily believed the man, as he had a look of genuine worry in his eyes.
“Perhaps, you should ask a staff member for help. It is very inappropriate for you to be here and it makes me very uncomfortable.”
The man’s pretence vanished and his face contorted into an ugly frown as he swore in such a vulgar way that caused the twenty-eight year old to shrink. It reminded her very much of her own abusers, and she was tempted to crawl and hide…
Applaud as much as you want
THE WRITTEN FAITH 
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